Consequence
by heartswells
Summary: [Content Warning: Eating Disorders] He had adapted to the pain of purging, accepting its consequences and learning to live with its anguish. Despite its horridness, he had always maintained that he was okay. Never had it occurred to him that others were n


Content Warning: Eating Disorders

[USA] National Eating Disorders Association: 1-800-931-2237  
[USA] Suicide Hotline: 1-800-SUICIDE or 1-800-273-TALK  
[Canada] NEDIC Helpline: 1-866-663-4220  
[UK] Eating Disorder Association Youth Helpline: 011-44-8456-347650  
[Ireland] Local Helpline: 1890 200 444  
[Australia] Eating Disorders Victoria Help Line: 1300 550 236  
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* * *

"Ludwig?" The letters quivered as they were tentatively cast through the bathroom door, and Ludwig froze, desperately seeking an explanation for his name that did not consist of the presence of another person.

"Ludwig, are you okay," Feliciano inquired, choking on the syllables as if they were jagged and painful. Horror paralyzed him, and everything suddenly seemed agonizingly loud: the beat of his heart, the hiss of the faucet, the breaths escaping his lips, and the words trembling off Feliciano's lips. His tongue stumbled to procure an adequate answer, and the flesh on his wrist itched as saliva and vomit began to dry in its pores.

"_Ja_, of course." His voice echoed in the hard, booming bass that Feliciano usually accepted without question, but the feebleness of Ludwig's words left a disquieted atmosphere in their wake.

"Are you sure," the Italian persisted. Time stopped, and Ludwig's eyes flashed around the room, seeking an inexistent escape from his panic. Breathe in and breathe out, he constructed himself. Place your hand on the lever, push downwards, and flush the toilet. Place your hands under the water, add soap, rub them together, rinse them, and dry them. Shuffle your feet, and turn the door knob.

"Ja, Feliciano." He forced his tone to feign exasperation and his head to mimic the shake of dismissal he often directed towards the whimsical man. Feliciano stared at him. Ludwig, normally so controlled, intelligent, and secure, felt helpless to resolve hs predicament. Eventually, the Italian nodded, smiled, whined for forgiveness, and scuttled off to mischief.

Ludwig was utterly astounded. The unsettlement that racked him could not be banished. _Feliciano_ had heard him purging, _identified_ that he was purging, and _approached him_ in the act to _protect Ludwig's well-being_. Through his numerous years battling disordered eating, Ludwig had been approached only by his elder brother on (terrible) select occasions. Though his struggles were not unknown, neither those surrounding him nor he himself addressed it. His disorder was a fragile, glass subject that none believed they possessed the tact to handle, and thus, Ludwig had been left to his own devices.

As a result, Ludwig had always believed that his purging episodes were completely unknown to those around him; he had considered himself a master of the crime, always evading discovery and destructing evidence. Feliciano's approach abruptly shattered this belief, and he was now overwhelmed by apprehension and shame. Had these years spent cowering behind bathroom doors been years where his loved ones cringed and worried? Had they sat in their rooms and imagined him suffering? Had they suffered alongside him in silence, too fearful to approach him?

Like a diabetic adapts to the prick of needles, he had adapted to the pain of purging. It had become an act of habit and necessity; he had accepted its consequences and learned to live with its anguish. Despite its horridness, he had always maintained that he was _okay_. Never had it occurred to him that _others_ were not okay, yet Feliciano's voice had throbbed with concern and fear, his once vivacious voice tainted by anxiety and sorrow.

It felt as though he'd been burned by Feliciano's words. They had imprinted on him the horrific truth that the suffering his eating disorder caused extended far beyond his self to those he loved. Feliciano, whom he yearned to protect from any ill and whom he only ever desired to see basking beneath naive pleasantries, had witnessed him harming himself. Gilbert had witnessed him harming himself. Kiku had witnessed him harming himself. Roderich had witnessed him harming himself. Elizabeta had witnessed him harming himself. And because they all loved one another, they felt for one another, sharing in his suffering.

He had long become immune to harm he inflicted upon himself, but he had never become immune to harm he inflicted upon others. It was frightening to now ponder the sorrow he had caused those he wished only to protect. Unintentionally, he had brought pain because he was incapable of doing otherwise. He was ashamed, remorseful, and exhausted. The continuous consequences of his disorder were becoming unbearable, and this seemed to be the straw that broke his metaphorical back. He wanted to be the Ludwig who protected, loved, and led again. He wanted to be strong. _He needed to be recovered._

* * *

Author's Note: Just a quick piece and some musings. (Can you tell I ship them? Haha.)


End file.
